Shuffing Destiny's Cards
by LovesAngst
Summary: Merlin manages to fulfill his destiny—-to help Arthur become the great king he was meant to be-—in a way no one had ever suspected and a way no one would ever have wished. Tragedy, Arthur-angst, Merlin/Arthur friendship. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur had been an absolute bear for the last fortnight. As the crown prince had recently come of age, it was his duty to oversee Camelot's jousting tournament this year. There would be knights and nobility coming from near and far. In addition to his own practice and that of his knights, Arthur was responsible for everything from arranging rooms and servants for the out-of-town guests to arranging banquets and hunts. Who was coming, from where, who could be sat next to whom, whose rooms needed to be as far apart as possible. Meats, wines, linens, baths, audiences with the king, the jousting schedule, hiring extra grooms and blacksmiths, vetting vendors and on and on it went!

Not only was Arthur tense as a ligament, he was starting to have trouble sleeping. He hadn't even had time to eat properly—in spite of Merlin's attempts at mothering, bossing, and finally begging Arthur to look after himself. If Arthur was waning, then Merlin was ten times so and very nearly done for. Even with sneaking a bit of magical help with his chores, Merlin was sleeping for only a few hours each night and found himself too worried about Arthur's appetite to have one of his own. Merlin was worn to the nub, tired, thin and cold. Though Gaius had told him he wasn't actually cold, he had a touch of a fever. Didn't matter, no time for that!

In his current state, no other servant could stand to be around Arthur, even Morgana and Gaius avoided the irritable prince whenever they could. Only Merlin hung on. In addition to his own duties (which seemed to have easily tripled) Merlin was serving as a go between, seemingly having to deliver every message others had on to Arthur. He bore the brunt of Arthur's anger and bitterness every time he passed a message Arthur didn't like—which seemed to be every time he opened his gob. It was getting worse by the moment and that was how the day started.

Merlin spoke quickly as he laid out Arthur's breakfast. He'd gone out of his way to find some honey in the hopes that he could at least get Arthur to eat a bun. "Hettie, from the kitchen, wanted me to tell you that the castle only has 75 sets of matching cutlery and you have invited 80 people to the closing banquet…"

Arthur's angry voice bellowed from behind his bed curtains, he'd obviously been awake when Merlin came in. "Damn it all Merlin! Can't you knock for bloody once! And tell bloody Hettie to borrow the fucking silverware from her fly-bitten-rabbit-sucking neighbour for all I care!" Arthur was hollering full out by the end and Merlin could tell just by sounds that his face would be red as a tomato.

"Slept well then I assume Arthur?" Merlin teased gently as he pulled back to curtains only to be greeted by Arthur's angry face. "Oh fuck off Merlin!"

The venom in Arthur's tone stung a bit, but Merlin let it pass over him knowing that Arthur was under a lot of pressure. "Only four more days Arthur and this will all be over." Merlin's smile crept into his voice "You'll be able to stay in bed all day and I'll bring up as many kitchen-treats as you can manage! We'll make Hettie earn her keep."

Arthur almost smiled as he pulled himself out of bed and plopped himself by the meal tray. "Alrighty then Arthur, you need to start with something to eat. I dare say you might be in better temper…" Arthur looked at the honey-smeared bun as though it was covered in sparrow droppings.

Arthur pulled a face and groaned "Gods, I can't" pushing the tray away.

"Ummmm…" Merlin really had no desire to further inflame Arthur this morning but didn't see a way around it. He spoke as he picked out Arthur's clothes for the day, head peaking out from around the wardrobe doors "Count Owens, from the northernmost town arrived this morning…"

"Count Owens?"

"Yes"

"For god's sake!" Arthur slammed his fist down. "Owens sent word he wasn't coming!"

"Yes sire." Merlin tucked his head back behind the wardrobe and winced as he spoke…"He has been asking where to house his stallion…"

Arthur rounded on Merlin again "Well Merlin…you tell me! There are no more stables! No more grooms! No more straw!" As Arthur took a breath to go on Merlin interrupted.

"At the back sire…"

"What?!"

"At the back of the stables, there's a small room where the ferrier has his tools. We could put Count Owens horse there…"

Arthur huffed but appeared to be considering it "No. He'd get all hot under the collar if his precious beast was in that musty old stall. Move my horse there; and muck out the stall where you've got Master Fillament's horse. Owens' horse can go in Fillament's stall and Fillament's can go in mine. Don't just stand there Merlin, move your insolent arse, I've about a hundred other things for you!"

Merlin stood where he was, looking uncomfortable, head cocked to the side "No."

"No. No?" Arthur growled as he stalked up into his manservant's personal space "No?"

"Umm…that's right sire. Unless you eat that blasted bun, I'm not going anywhere. You can throw me in the stocks I suppose but then you'd have to see to all those hundred details on your own…"

For a moment, Merlin thought Arthur might just haul off and slug him. Truthfully, it was close. "Fine!" Arthur stomped to the tray and shoved half the bun in his mouth "happy Merlin?!" he grunted around the bread.

Merlin gave a little smile as he turned to head off to the stables "Thrilled…"

Despite the unseasonable cold, Merlin was sweating like a hard-run horse by the time he'd gotten half way through mucking out Master Fillament's assigned stall. The evil-tempered horse's efforts to stamp Merlin's feet didn't help matters much. Perhaps he did have a fever. Merlin had worked himself into the back corner when he heard Arthur blustering and fretting his way through the stables. All he heard were bits and snatches "flea-bitten", "maggoty", "useless" and finally "Merlin!" as he spotted Merlin at the back of the stall, horse stamping testily around him. In spectacularly poor judgement, Arthur shoved past the jittery animal and set about yelling at Merlin. "I said put Owens' horse in Master Catmint's stall!!"

"No Arthur, you said Fillament's stall…"

"Well if you weren't so bloody lazy and mentally-deficient you would have put your brain to some use and realized that I couldn't very well have meant Filliment's stall! Right?! Right?! Do I have to do all the thinking?!!"

Merlin anxiously eyed the big stallion who was pressing to get out and pawing angrily at the ground. "Simmer down Arthur..." Merlin spoke in a calming tone, trying to avoid stirring the horse up any farther.

"Simmer down?!" Arthur shouted, he was so angry he was seeing red. He grabbed a bridle and bit hanging on a nail and threw it with all his might into the other corner. The mess came down with a great and satisfying racket. Not a second later, the horse let out an angry screech. Temper tantrum over, Arthur turned slowly back towards the horse just in time to see its front feet brace on the ground and the back two coil to kick.

Merlin knew that he was in no shape to use magic on an unpredictable animal in such confined quarters. Especially with Arthur standing frozen in place. He would never, could never endanger his friend like that. With no time for thought Merlin took one giant stride and was in front of his master

"Arthur! Down!" Merlin had time to yelp just as the animal let go and violently kicked out.

The horse's left hoof swished passed them and splintered into the boards. The right smashed into Merlin's frail chest with such force that both boys were thrown back. Deep beneath Camelot, the dragon roared out his disbelief.

**Thank you for reading, pretty please leave me some feedback!**


	2. Chapter 2

The horse's left hoof swished passed them and splintered into the boards. The right smashed into Merlin's frail chest with such force that both boys were thrown back. Deep beneath Camelot, the dragon roared out his disbelief.

________________________________

Merlin's back crashed into Arthur as if he'd been flung from a canon. Arthur's head connected smartly with the boards behind them. In an instant they'd slid down the rough planks into a heap on the straw. Arthur had managed to get one arm around Merlin's shoulders and slow their descent.

For a moment Arthur was sure they were both to be trampled. Hooves flashed and stamped, they were both struck and grazed. Clumsily, the prince managed to pull himself and Merlin off to the side, throwing himself over Merlin's head, trying to shield him from the frightened animal.

He figured they were likely at the end. That would certainly put a crimp in the tournament.

With senses exquisitely tuned time seemed to slow and he was assaulted with shards of reality …screaming horse, shouting men, smashing hooves, feet in leather riding boots, blood on the straw, the crack of a whip, the smell of fear and sweat and dung…he felt Merlin move beneath him.

In seconds the grooms had descended on the stall and the beast was out, still rearing and neighing.

"Sire!" the head groom cried out and ran into the tiny space. His blood had run cold at the thought that the prince may have been badly injured—or worse! The king would quite literally have his head!

Arthur blinked hard; trying to clear his vision and his mind, the room swam around him, ears ringing. Wincing, he touched his scalp and came away with a bit of blood. Arthur opened his mouth to speak but found he had no air. After a painful gasp he waved the groom off "Gaius" he croaked. His gaze tore back to Merlin "get Gaius!"

Merlin was lying on his back in the straw, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling, arms and legs askew.

"Merlin!" Arthur's hands began roving over the boy "Merlin are you alright? Can you hear me? _Mer_lin!"

Nothing.

Arthur positioned himself in Merlin's line of sight "Look at me!" Arthur commanded, his voice shaking with unaccustomed fear.

As Arthur watched, blood seeped from Merlin's parted lips trailing down his cheek like an ugly leech. Arthur immediately hated it, hated that trail of blood. He wiped it away roughly with the ball of his thumb. No sooner had he drawn his hand over the offending stain then it reappeared. No! Merlin's life blood continued to ooze forth.

Arthur had no idea what to do "Where's Gaius!!!?" he yelled at the men watching uncomfortably from the aisle, Arthur's hands never leaving Merlin completely.

To Arthur's horror Merlin started twitching slowly, his eyes still focused somewhere overhead. Suddenly, he convulsed—head back and Adam's apple standing out in sharp relief, blood bubbling forth from his mouth and nose. Once, twice. Arthur kneeled aghast, shaking his head, too stunned to act.

The head groom was back and ran part way into the stall "He's drowning sire!"

This broke Arthur's trance "Merlin!" his voice caught—impossibly positioned between a yell and a whisper. Arthur grabbed his servant up without another thought. Confused, afraid, and concussed, Arthur didn't even notice when he began yelling his friend's name over and over, louder each time.

Arthur tried to support Merlin upright, though he was limp as a wet rag. Merlin twitched and gained a bit of tone, some air had made it into his lungs. With that bit of breath came the most horrific sounds Arthur had ever heard. They would surely follow him to the grave. Thick, gurgling chokes. Like drowning a man in mud.

Gaius rounded the corner as fast as he could move. He had begun running towards the stables as soon as he heard the dragon—he might not have much magic but he had enough to hear the dragon's rage and despair and to know what it meant. Half way to the stables his fear was confirmed by the sight of a knight running to get him. Before he'd even made it to the stables, Gaius heard the prince's pained yells.

Gaius quickly absorbed the scene before him. A tableau of agonies. Merlin lay twitching in Arthur's arms, his eyes open, glazed. Sightless. The side of his forehead resting on Arthur's crimson-soaked breast. Blood was running down Merlin's chin, between the boys, and spattering them with each half-breath that choked out. Arthur's face could have been etched from stone, frozen in horror.

Arthur hadn't looked up, the groom spoke "The prince and his man were trampled. I think Merlin's taken the worst of it…"

Gaius stopped listening as he dropped to his knees in front of the boys. Merlin was in grave peril. One or both lungs had been badly damaged, likely by broken ribs. In a culture ruled by horseflesh, Gaius had seen hundreds of trampling victims.

"This way! Tilt him this way!" Arthur immediately obeyed; as Gaius guided Merlin's head to the side, Arthur half-rolled him in his arms. Blood _poured_ from Merlin's mouth. Arthur shut his eyes, stomach clenching, and swallowed hard as the hot blood ran from wrist to elbow. Merlin gave two more great twitches, lungs spasming and the blood slowed back to a trickle.

Finally, Merlin blinked. He coughed pitifully before moaning, his breath catching on agony like a rusted nail. He tensed as if to draw himself into a ball then suddenly went limp, dangling from Arthur's arms, overcome by pain and shock.

"Merlin?!" Arthur's frantic eyes met Gaius' and what the prince saw there undid him. Gaius hadn't bothered to hide his silent tears. "No!" Arthur's whisper was harsh and pained. He pulled Merlin back towards himself, into a gentle embrace; planting his chin on top Merlin's head. His mind ghosted over a though…why had he never embraced his friend before?

Arthur's face crumpled for a moment, then straightened "No. Absolutely not! You _must_ save him…"

Gaius forcibly pulled himself together "You there! Guards! Bring that board for a stretcher!"

Gaius and Arthur gently positioned Merlin, on his least injured side, onto the board. Three guards rose as one and bore Merlin off to the physician's chambers. Arthur's eyes lingered on the soles of Merlin's shoes as he disappeared from sight.

Arthur was suddenly freezing, he felt empty—bereft—without Merlin's small, warm presence in his arms. All the things that seemed so important over the last days were suddenly meaningless. His clothing clung, wet and cold.

Gaius made as if to turn back, realizing he had not yet tended to the prince's injuries. His head was bleeding at the very least and bruises were forming on his forearms. Arthur waved him off. "Go. Go with Merlin." Gaius left Arthur with a kind look.

As Arthur tried to stand, thoughts rushed at him…he'd been so damn cruel to Merlin—mean, flippant, entitled, not one ounce of appreciation or kindness. Again. For no good reason. "Liar!" Arthur whispered angrily to himself. He knew the reason. He had no idea, not one iota, how to show affection. In his heart of hearts, Arthur treasured his most-endearingly-imperfect Merlin.

Merlin. Merlin had saved him. Panic overtook Arthur, shoving sadness aside for the moment. Merlin had just stepped right out in front of a kicking horse. On bloody purpose.

Merlin couldn't die! It was unthinkable, they were meant to be together damn it all. The two of them, slowly turning to wizened old men. Merlin had become a fixture in all of Arthur's imaginings of the future.

But he was going to die. The look in Gaius' eyes had been unmistakable. Arthur closed his eyes, lids shuddering against bitter tears, holding them back. His head spun with an image of Merlin, chest heaving and convulsing, drowning in blood. Arthur forcibly opened his eyes; blood was everywhere, pooled on the floor, spattered on the wall, soaking his shirt and breeches. He reached out a hand to push himself up and it slipped, smearing cold blood across the floor. Arthur gagged. He punched the floor once, twice, three times. Four times. Barely registering the pain, mixing his own blood with Merlin's, his eyes welled with tears and he shook his head to clear them.

Suddenly, Arthur shot up onto his hands and knees. Retching turned to barking sobs, and then he was vomiting, hacking, gasping. Crying.

Gods forbid. Princes don't go to pieces over a dying servant and a knock on the head.

Arthur knew he must have looked quite a sight as he sank back onto his haunches, haunted eyes, choking on bitter grief, covered in blood and clutching a possibly-broken hand to his chest. He shook his head at a servant who'd come running at the new sounds emanating from the stall. The concerned and fearful look in the man's eyes filled Arthur with guilt. One last sob couldn't be held back and Arthur tried to disguise it as a cough. For the other or himself he didn't know. He roughly rubbed the evidence of his weakness from his eyes and nose then heaved himself to unsteady feet. After swaying for a moment, Arthur spat into the straw and made his way out of the stables.

**Thank you for your feedback so far! If you like the story, please let me know!**


	3. Chapter 3

As Arthur emerged from the stables it seemed as if everyone in Camelot was looking right at him. It didn't help that the castle and grounds were packed with spectators and royalty and servants who'd been settling in for the tournament.

These people would have gawked as Merlin was carried past but a moment earlier. The idea of all these strangers watching his friend bleeding, dying, sickened Arthur.

"What are you looking at?!" he yelled, pointing at himself with both hands. "What?!" Almost as one, the startled people turned back to their tasks, making as if they'd not been staring in the first place. Just as he was about to start bellowing at the top of his lungs Arthur stopped himself. He wasn't about to give these people fodder. Wasn't going to have them go home and talk about how Merlin had been…hurt…and the prince had completely come unglued at the stables today. Fuck them.

Arthur was sure word would have already gotten back to the king. In no way did he want to be ensnared by his father who'd likely have some lecture for Arthur about the situation and not allowing himself to become torn up over a half-wit serving boy.

If his little meltdown in the stable taught Arthur anything it was that he had to be with Merlin, his friend, his truest friend. Now. Winding through a route he hoped his father wouldn't intersect him on, Arthur hurried to Gaius' chambers. The closer he got the greater his fear until he was pelting down the last hall, other's opinions forgotten. In his minds eye he imagined the room empty except for Merlin's shrouded form. Lying out on the hard, unforgiving, table. A whimper escaped his lips as Arthur burst through Gaius' door terrified at what he might see.

"Merlin?"

Merlin was curled on his side lying on Gaius' bed, which had been pulled up close to the fire. Pillows were propped behind him. He was so, so pale. A pile of bloody rags was heaped on the floor to the side. Yet for a moment Arthur's heart leapt with hope, Merlin was moving. That had to be a good sign.

Arthur barely kept from crying out himself as he realized that Merlin was writhing—twitching—in pain, his face was agony. Eyes shut tightly and, mouth agape, Merlin's pitiful groans whispered past his lips as a fresh line of blood was wiped gently away by Gaius.

"Sire, please sit before you fall." Gaius looked up, taking in the young prince. He was clearly in shock; his hands shook as he raked them through his hair helplessly. His eyes were glassy and refused to meet Gaius'. He obviously had a head injury, the severity of which Gaius couldn't guess at, and his right hand was swollen and bloody.

"Let me look at you…"

"No." Arthur shook his head, eyes never leaving his servant.

"Sire…"

"No." Merlin was clearly struggling, Arthur couldn't bear to watch, couldn't bear to look away. "Tell me Gaius."

For a beat Gaius hesitated, Arthur's face contorted in pain as Merlin twitched and cried out, Arthur took a step closer, unsure.

After a moment, Gaius relented. "Fine but not until you sit."

Arthur sat on the edge of a seat by the bed, still not looking at Gaius. The firelight danced off his haggard features.

Gaius threw a blanket over the prince's shoulders and sat too. He wasn't sure how to begin. Arthur was barely more than a boy, a frightened and injured boy at that. However, Arthur had seen his fair share of life and would not appreciate Gaius keeping anything from him.

He took a deep breath and began "As far as I can tell, Merlin was kicked once, here…" Gaius pointed to the left side of his own chest; Arthur nodded absently "and sustained other, smaller impacts. The only serious injury is the one to his chest." After hesitating a moment he drew the blanket back and gently opened Merlin's shirt. Arthur's stomach clenched violently again. His lips disappeared into a thin hard line. Thank the gods he'd already thrown up. Merlin's thin torso was a mass of bruising, hideously mottled purple and brown. But worst than anything Arthur had ever seen before was the shape; the left side of Merlin's rib cage had been virtually staved in. Arthur's shaking hand went to his mouth and he slammed his eyes.

"Tell me!" Arthur roughly demanded, his eyes were still shut and he spoke from behind his hand. He knew what Gaius was going to say. He had to hear it.

"I'm sorry sire." Arthur was already shaking his head…a lone tear had escaped captivity. Gaius broke off, his voice hitching "Merlin has lost too much blood..." Arthur shook his head harder

"Please no…" he croaked out "please." This could not be happening.

Gaius continued "and I can do nothing to repair the lung or the broken ribs which are tearing into it." To himself, Gaius lamented that Merlin was too seriously injured, too far gone, to heal himself. If only Gaius had pushed him to learn more, learn faster, practice more diligently. The guilt burned like vinegar in his throat.

Arthur's head swum. He was surprised when he opened his eyes to find his vision blurring with wetness. How could this be happening?! An hour ago he and Merlin were joking. Well, actually an hour ago he'd been hurling insults at Merlin. Now, Merlin was going to die.

"When?" his voice broke.

"I don't know. Before night fall."

Arthur's own face scrunched in agony nearly mirroring Merlin's own. "Is he conscious? Can he hear me?"

"There is no simple answer Arthur. As far as I can tell, Merlin is not unconscious, yet his pain is so great…" Gaius closed his eyes for a moment. He'd never felt more of a failure as a physician "Merlin is in such pain that I don't believe he is aware of anything else."

Gods, Merlin didn't deserve to suffer like! No one did, not even Camelot's worse enemy, but especially not Merlin. Arthur realized he loved his silly, clumsy, wonderful friend. So much.

And it hurt.

"Can't you do something for the pain Gaius?" Arthur pleaded. His hand snuck forwards and back, wanting to touch Merlin but afraid to cause him more pain.

"I have given him willow already. I was preparing a draught…to" Gaius turned away, unable to face either boy "to end it. I was waiting for you Arthur; I know Merlin would have wanted me to wait."

Arthur was confused "Surely you have something stronger than willow for pain? I'm sure you've given me potions in the past…"

"Yes, a potent extract of a rare poppy plant..."

"What are you waiting for!? Merlin must have it!"

"Sire, the medicine is very rare."

Arthur's features fell. "You have none…"

"Not exactly sire. I have a small supply which Uther has instructed be used only for royalty…" Gaius looked away then tenderly removed the blood-soaked rag from under Merlin's cheek and replaced it with a clean cloth; Merlin had been lying very still.

Suddenly Merlin thrashed, Gaius reached out a hand to steady the boy lest he tip onto his injury. Merlin cried out, his yelp turning into heart wrenching sobs. As Merlin's whole frail body shook, tears tracked down his pale face. Arthur couldn't stand it, giving in to his desire to touch his friend. Gently cupping Merlin's face in his hands Arthur stroked away the tears. It seemed as his wiped them from Merlin they alit on his own face. Arthur roughly swiped at his own cheek with the back of a hand.

"Give Merlin the medicine! Now! Can't you see he's suffering?!" Arthur was beside himself, willing to do almost anything at that moment to spare Merlin the pain he was suffering. Almost anything. He'd even sit by as Gaius administered a draught of death if he had to.

"But your father…'

"Gauis! I don't care—he's wrong, this medicine can't be spared for royalty alone! Give it to Merlin!" Why did he have to fight the old man on this!?

"You don't believe it should be saved sire?"

"Of course not!"

Arthur looked impatiently up at Gaius who said "There is a woman in the village sire. Now. Breech birth. The pain will likely kill her and therefore the baby as well." Arthur knew where Gaius was going with this but could not find it in himself to care.

"If I were to give this to her sire, she might live." Then came the rub. "Merlin will not."

"Damn it all!" Arthur's voice was a dangerous whisper "Don't you assume to teach me a lesson at a time like this!"

"M'lord, lessons do not always come at the time of our choosing…"

Arthur spoke in a soft steady tone but his eyes burned with rage and terror and pain. "Let me be perfectly clear Gaius, so you can stop talking to me and help Merlin. I do not care what this medicine might do for someone else. I do not care what Uther has decreed, and I will have _your bloody head_ if you leave Merlin to suffer for one more moment. Do. You. Understand?"

"As you wish sire"

As Gaius went to his cupboard to retrieve the small bottle Arthur slumped in his chair, with his head in his hands. "Please Merlin…" he whispered and swallowed roughly. Please what? He could not think of another word. "Please…"

As Gaius returned with the little bottle, he added one last lesson to the list Arthur would think about in the weeks and months to come. "You know sire, had your father not ordered me to ration this, there would have been none for Merlin…"

**Ok, because of sure wonderful feedback, I put in some extra work and got the chapter done much sooner than I'd thought! Chapter 4, likely late next week. More feedback please!**


	4. Chapter 4

As Gaius returned with the little bottle, he added one last lesson to the list Arthur would think about in the weeks and months to come. "You know sire, had your father not ordered me to ration this, there would have been none for Merlin…"

Gaius carefully scraped the last drop of dark sticky opium out of the bottom of the bottle and then gently rubbed the resin into Merlin's gums.

At first, there was no change. Arthur burned as Merlin shook and sobbed out his agony, his movements causing more and more damage. Finally, when Arthur felt he could not stand another second, the opium started to take effect. Slowly, over the course of a quarter-hour, Merlin's muscles began to relax. His face lost its vicious tension and finally, his body slumped. His breaths were slower but mercifully less forced.

Only the blood refused to change its course. Steadily oozing from Merlin's bluish lips.

Without Arthur even noticing, Gaius tended to his head. He proceeded to coax him out of his blood-stiff shirt and into one of Merlin's, as if dealing with a sleepy toddler. Gaius was worried about Arthur and wasn't sure how he was going to deal with…well, with reality. Arthur did not even make so much as a peep as Gaius pulled slivers from his knuckles and then wrapped his injured hand. Gaius was fairly sure it would heal, but Arthur would likely feel it every time he held a sword. How many reminders of this day did the poor prince need he wondered.

Every since Merlin had received with the poppy, Arthur hadn't said a word. He simply sat there looking both stern and sad at the same time. He went from sitting back in the chair with his good hand shading his eyes to leaning in close to his friend and back again.

Finally Merlin's eyes opened and focused on Arthur

"Merlin." Arthur's voice came out as a whisper. He could honestly think of no other words at the moment.

Gaius came into Merlin's view, crouching in front of his ward "My boy…how is the pain?"

After a couple shallow breaths Merlin blinked and focused his eyes with some effort onto Gaius "Ok. Loads better."

Gaius' heart was breaking. The poor boy was crumpled on his side, dying from as horrid an injury as Gaius had ever seen and still he was sweet and grateful. Trying to make Gaius and Arthur feel better. Gaius' hand absently stroked Merlin's hair as the boy's eyes went out of focus again.

The young wizard's voice was a mere breath…"What happened?"

Gaius soothed "Shhh…you were badly hurt."

"The horse…" ghostly words whispered from near bloodless lips.

Arthur found his voice "Yes, that's right. I was an ass Merlin. I was an ass and startled the horse. He kicked you…"

Merlin half-nodded, still curled. His blinks long and slow from blood loss, shock, and opiate. He was impossibly white with blue-black smudges under his eyes.

Merlin's eyes were haunted as he looked into Arthur's. He knew, he was dying and he knew.

"Alright Arthur?"

Arthur's features pulled in, sorrow writ across his brow before schooling his face "Yes. I'm alright Merlin. You saved me"

"Oh." Merlin slurred slowly, his eyes wandering back to nowhere "I'm glad of that."

Hiding his sorrow with anger as usual, Arthur leaned in close, elbows on his knees, hands on the bed. He hung his head and bit out, voice shaking "You shouldn't have Merlin!"

Merlin was too weak to respond. With an effort he moved his hand forward across the mattress—inches seeming miles—and slid it over Arthur's bandaged one. A simple act of love.

As he felt Merlin's hand cover his own Arthur's head snapped up. He was sure Merlin was going to say something, anything—to forgive him or tease him or tell him to get lost, say goodbye—something. Merlin was silent. He just continued to lay there, on his side, his grave-cold hand over Arthur's, staring ahead. He was so quiet, still, and tiny. Just fading quietly away.

Arthur's uninjured hand came up tentatively. Seemingly of its own accord the hand reached out rested for a moment, tangled into Merlin's messy hair. Merlin didn't even blink at this, he simply stared ahead. Arthur's hand trembled as he closed it over Merlin's.

Pain bent Arthur in half, his forehead coming to rest on their hands. A broken sob escaped him like ember bursting from a fire. Damn it all!! The prince pulled himself closer to Merlin's face and finally choked out what he'd been thinking since the moment Merlin had lay down his life for Arthur "I wish you hadn't Merlin…I wish you hadn't" Emotion laced the prince's voice. Guilt. Gratitude. Love. Despair.

After a second, Merlin's hand squeezed Arthur's almost imperceptibly. It was all he could manage. For Arthur. Arthur quieted his cries and tried to be strong for his friend.

For a time, they sat just so. Merlin's hand over Arthur's, Arthur's over both.

In the end, Merlin sighed, and was gone. As the last leaf of autumn, suddenly taken by the wind. The tension drained out of his body and he lay unmoving. Eyes unseeing.

A strangled sound escaped Arthur before he could stop it. He brought Merlin's hand to his lips. His whole body shook with effort. As Gaius reached past Arthur and gently closed Merlin's eyes Arthur choked out a sob.

Gaius rested a hand gently on Arthur's heaving shoulder "Merlin's suffering is done, Arthur. Only ours remains." Arthur nodded stiffly, trying so hard to stifle the sobs that were building in his chest and shoulders.

Shaking his head, overcome with unfamiliar emotion, Arthur positioned himself on the bed, tenderly picking up Merlin as gently as if he were a baby. Under his breath, Arthur was making calming and soothing sounds "shhh… Merlin… shhh… it's alright now." Arthur _was_ misery as he touched his lips to his friend's unruly hair, kissing Merlin gently on the forehead.

As Gaius approached the bed with a clean cloth in his hand, Arthur, shook his head, looking frightened and confused, backing hard against the headboard with Merlin clutched to his chest "No."

"Sire…" Gaius eased closer.

"No. You mustn't take him." Arthur firmly shook his head taken by a silent sob.

"I wouldn't dream of it my lord." After resting a hand on Merlin's head for a moment, Gaius gently but firmly began to wipe Arthur's burning face, his tear tracks, under his nose. It is what Merlin would have wanted, he was quite sure.

"Gaius. Gaius. I'm so sorry…"

"Shhhh, sire." Gaius spoke gently. He rinsed and rung out the cloth, handing it to Arthur.

Arthur shifted Merlin's insignificant weight and thought for a moment how, cradled as he was, Merlin looked like a messy, sleeping, child. Without another word, Arthur took the cloth and wiped Merlin's brow then began on the dried blood on his chin.

"There are women…that will do that Arthur…" Arthur looked up with such sorrow, his eyes would have broken stone "Women that will prepare…" a long pause "Merlin." Gaius was clearly struggling to keep his emotions in check. He had the advantage of age, experience, and having been with countless people and their families as death came.

"Sire, you need to rest."

Arthur just stared out at Gaius. Finally he spoke "What will they do?" his voice tiny and forlorn.

"One will wash and dry Merlin's clothing. The other will bathe and anoint him. Then Merlin will be dressed and given a coin for the ferryman. You have seen what happens next, he with be lain in state tomorrow—here I imagine." Gaius glanced around his rather humble rooms. "The pyre will be tomorrow night."

Gods, Gaius felt old and tired.

"My chambers." Arthur mumbled.

"Sire?"

"Please Gaius" the prince outright begged "Please, can I bring Merlin…" Arthur stopped, took a breath and corrected himself "Merlin's body. Might I bring Merlin's body to my chambers? For the rituals?"

Gaius looked worried but could not deny the grieving boy.

**Feedback, pretty please. My goal with this fic was to make the reader **_**feel**_**. Let me know what you think! Two chapters left to go…**


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur stopped, took a breath and corrected himself "Merlin's body. Might I bring Merlin's body to my chambers? For the rituals?"

Gaius looked worried but could not deny the grieving boy. "Of course sire. I will send for the matrons."

Arthur nodded. He shrugged the blanket from his shoulders and asked "May I have this?"

"Yes, of course. It was Merlin's"

Carefully he held Merlin to his shoulder with one arm, Arthur's bandaged hand lost in Merlin's hair, Arthur smoothed the blanket on to the bed. After a moment's hesitation, he lay Merlin gently down on it and buttoned his servant's shirt. Oh god, how many times had Merlin stood—nattering away—doing up Arthur's buttons. The thought pained him. Arthur bundled Merlin's tiny motionless body warmly in the blanket. Gaius silently handed Arthur Merlin's red neckerchief which Arthur immediately crushed in his hand, fighting off a resurgence of tears.

Winning the battle with his emotions, Arthur stoically, tied the cloth around his own neck before turning back to Merlin.

Arthur gently scooped up the body of his best friend and rose. Although Merlin weighed little, Arthur faltered once, as sorrow and weariness overtook him. For the first time since the accident, Arthur felt his own cracked ribs protesting. As Arthur worked to steady himself, Merlin's head dropped back, limply sliding from Arthur's shoulder. With a whimper, Arthur gathered Merlin closer, supporting his head carefully. Gaius knew better than to interfere and stood back as Arthur, by force of will, stumbled to his feet. Tattered and exhausted. Bruised and bandaged, wearing Merlin's shirt, he looked more like a servant than prince.

Dusk gathered and most of Camelot's citizens were long-since home, having supper in warm homes as Arthur walked slowly across the uneven stones. Alone. Eyes dead ahead, through the biting wind and dusting of snow. From above, eyes fixed on the prince. Morgana and Gwen both covered their mouths, their sorrow plain. From another window, the king's expression was unreadable as he took note then turned away from his window.

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As Arthur settled Merlin onto his bed, Gaius arrived; setting Merlin's sad looking shoes and some underclothes by the door. Without speaking, he began to stoke Arthur's fire.

Only a moment later, two matrons arrived bearing water and linens.

From his protective, fierce, stance between the women and Merlin, it was clear that Arthur was not about to let the matrons do their job. Arthur needed to do this himself. For Merlin.

From the look on their faces, it was clear that the matrons were appalled at the idea of sitting idly by and letting the crown prince of Camelot scrub clothes and wash a body. Gaius took them aside and the three spoke in hushed murmurs.

For his part, Arthur hadn't said a word since leaving Merlin and Gaius' home. Stoic. Mute. Haunted. As Gaius spoke with the women, Arthur sat on the edge of the bed.

Slowly, carefully, and gently Arthur began to undress Merlin—as if afraid that he might wake him from rest needed for mending. Socks from limp feet, knotted rope where a belt ought to have been, trousers gently, gently over boney hips. Arthur folded each item of clothes with devotion and set them aside. Tucking Merlin in with his own warm comforter as he went.

A matron gingerly approached the bed, hoping to at least take the trousers and socks. One agonized and commanding glare from Arthur was enough for her to back quietly away.

Arthur began unbuttoning Merlin's jerkin. As he folded it back, Merlin's gaunt, battered, _dented_ chest came into full relief. The motionless chest betrayed the illusion that Merlin might have been asleep. Swallowing, Arthur gently slipped one arm under Merlin's now-cool back and the other behind his head. As he lifted the body, Arthur could not hold back a whimper as Merlin's arms limply slid from the rough fabric. Gaius appeared and gently pulled the shirt out from under Merlin, slowly so as not to startle the prince. Arthur tucked Merlin in up to his chin and collected up the clothing to wash.

The room was silent, no one moved as the young prince took his friend's meager clothes over to the corner where his wash board and basin awaited on the flagstones along with a kettle of hot water and a bar of strong laundry soap.

There, neatly folded over the tub were Arthur's own socks. Merlin had washed them and set them there to dry so Arthur would have them for this evening's festivities. That plain image, socks, lovingly washed and hung to dry had Arthur simply and completely undone again. He dropped to his knees at the wash tub and with a shaking hand picked up his socks. Clean, warm, almost new. They'd been scrubbed, wrung, and lain out by the overworked and underfed servant whose own thin socks were now awaiting the tub. Arthur was shaking with effort, he could not cry in front of the women. Bad enough that Gaius had already seen him go to pieces.

Arthur's eyes were trained down, his focus completely on not falling apart. In his peripheral vision the prince just barely registered a man's strong arm. The arm reached past Arthur and poured the kettle into the wash tub. Carefully, the man crouched down and gently began rolling up Arthur's sleeves.

As the other spoke, Arthur was startled to hear it was his father. The king firmly gripped Arthur's shoulder in a warm calloused hand after he had both the sleeves rolled out of the way.

"Jillian, Fiona" Uther spoke quietly to the matrons so as not to startle his fragile son. "I brought myrrh, please set it by the bed. Then you may draw the bath and leave us."

The king's appearance and was just one more in a day of shocks and Arthur's face registered little. Any other day he would have been stunned with his father's compassion. Today however, Arthur could only peer out miserably from under his bangs.

"Arthur." Uther looked unsure how to continue but soldiered on "I know Camelot's matrons well. I know far more about death, grief…" he stopped and swallowed "I know far more about grief than I hoped you ever would. And guilt."

With a nod, Arthur set aside his socks and pressed Merlin's clothes into the steaming water, not even flinching at the heat. All he could think of was Merlin, lying just feet away. Dead. How could it possibly be that his Merlin would never smile again. Never? Arthur would have given anything, everything, to go back. To change things.

Arthur scrubbed the socks, still mute, then rose as steadily as he could, walked over and hung them by the fire. Back on his knees, he scrubbed the threadbare trousers. It didn't take a physician to see that Arthur was becoming overwhelmed by the grim task, by his thoughts, images, regrets, and guilt. The prince sagged.

The matrons took their leave and the door finally closed behind them. Not a second later, Arthur let out a sob he didn't know he'd been holding.

The king awkwardly sat beside Arthur. When had he last sat on a floor? Thirty, forty years ago? No matter. As Uther put his arm around Arthur the boy finally let go and allowed himself to be comforted for a moment, to be drawn into an embrace, unable to resist.

"Father…" he stammered "this is my fault" Arthur looked over his shoulder at Merlin. Gaius was sitting on the bed holding the boy's hand.

Uther knew there was nothing that he could say and simply drew Arthur closer to him until the sides of their heads touched.

"Go" Uther nodded towards the bed "I will finish here."

Arthur nodded and staggered to his feet. He turned and looked back at his father. The king began scrubbing Merlin's shirt, working as earnestly at the task as Arthur would have. For Arthur.

Gaius looked up as Arthur approached and stood, tears running down his lined face "The bath is ready sire."

Seemingly gone silent again, Arthur nodded and wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. How many times had Merlin drawn him a warm bath? Too many to count.

Arthur pushed the covers back and picked up his friend again. This time Arthur took extra care to support Merlin's neck—the way his head had fallen back at Gaius' was perhaps the most terrible moment in Arthur's life and he had no wish to repeat it. In a few strides they were at the small, warm bath. Arthur lowered Merlin into the water. With mounting sadness, Arthur realized that bathing a body was not a one-man job. Someone had to support Merlin and move his limbs as the other washed. Arthur couldn't even do _this_ right.

"Please sire" Gaius interjected, reading the train of Arthur's thought "Allow me to help."

With a curt nod Arthur set himself securely on his knees and carefully put his arms around his friend. Gaius was gentle and slow. He removed Merlin's smallclothes and steadily washed the body. As Gaius stood painfully, Arthur spoke.

"His hair."

"Arthur?" it was the king who spoke. Uther stood by the fire and flipped each item of clothing—rapidly drying by the roaring flames.

"Merlin, I would wash his hair."

Gaius nodded and reached for the pot of liquid Arthur used on his own hair and placed it with his a cup at the head of the bath. Without words, Gaius took over Arthur's position, lowering Merlin closer to the cooling water.

Arthur carefully poured water over and over Merlin's hair until it was wet, then he gently washed it and rinsed. Carefully; he didn't want to get soap in Merlin's eyes.

Uther stood at the ready beside the small tub with a towel over his open arms. For a moment Arthur's mind alighted on the idea that his father had done this all before. Steeling himself, Arthur lifted Merlin's delicate body from the water, placing him into Uther's toweled arms for a moment before adjusting the linen and then receiving Merlin back.

Arthur looked confused, he wasn't sure what was next.

"The bed sire."

Of course. Arthur turned and took Merlin back to his bed.

The matrons had left a stack of clean linens on the bedside table. Arthur took one. For a moment he couldn't tear his eyes from the offending cloth, he wanted to scream, to bellow to the high heavens, tearing the rough fabric to ribbons. Instead, he sighed and turned back to his task. This was all so wrong. Arthur carefully dried Merlin's body, his face, his hair.

Gaius brought over the underclothes he had brought, clean and plain. Suddenly young and embarrassed, Arthur backed out of the way. As if on cue, Uther stepped into his place and helped Gaius with Merlin's shorts and undershirt. Touching Arthur's shoulder again, Uther backed away to tend the fire.

Despite the warmth of the room, Arthur was cold. He pictured crawling under the covers and lying beside Merlin. Staring at the ceiling for…well…for forever he supposed. Cold tears dripping into his ears, soaking his pillow.

A moment later, Uther handed Arthur the tiny pot of myrrh. Arthur dipped his thumb into the oil and gently touched Merlin's bruises and cuts. There were many. After he'd gently visited each small injury, Arthur drew a glistening line down the left side of Merlin's chest—over the mortal wound. Arthur swallowed harshly. "If…" he croaked, cleared his throat and spoke again "if I'd just stopped to think for even a moment. Merlin might be perched at that table, mocking me as he should be." Arthur shook his head roughly, his bandaged hand came up and covered his face. "The real cause of Merlin's…death …was my idiocy." He looked up at Gaius, eyes begging "How can I anoint him for that?" Arthur expected no answer and received none.

Arthur went to the fire and retrieved Merlin's clothes. After a moment's hesitation, he folded Merlin's socks and set them aside, bringing his own pair from beside the wash basin instead.

Arthur dressed Merlin's body while Gaius helped out when needed. Trousers (with a small belt from Arthur's youth dug from the corner of a drawer), shirt, Arthur's socks, and finally, Merlin's shoes. Arthur reached up to untie Merlin's kerchief from his neck. Gaius stopped him with a gentle hand.

"Merlin would want you to have that sire, if you would." Arthur was secretly glad to keep this token. This treasure.

As tradition held, Arthur slipped a coin into Merlin's mouth—for the ferryman. Finally, he set about brushing the dark, unruly hair. Washed, brushed, dressed in fresh clothes and lying on the clean bedding, Arthur though Merlin had never looked so fine. Or so awful. Damn it all! Arthur's tears once again betrayed him and he tried furiously to hold them back.

With a hand on his back, Gaius thanked the prince for what he had done, knowing a lesser man could not have withstood the last few hours. Gaius excused himself and left Arthur's chambers, promising to return before others would arrive.

Uther pulled up a chair and sat, facing Arthur.

"What?!" Arthur snapped, his guilt seeing rebuke where none existed. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing Arthur."

When his wife had died Uther might well have ended his own life, Camelot be damned. All that had stayed his hand had been the tenuous responsibility of fatherhood. He would make sure that Arthur was not alone as he had been. Concern flitted across the king's features as his son turned dejectedly back to his dead serving boy, placing his warm hand over the boy's cold one.

**Thank you so much for all the feedback to date. Please take a second and let me know what you think.**


	6. Chapter 6

Concern flitted across the king's features as his son turned dejectedly back to his dead serving boy, placing his warm hand over the boy's cold one.

There was a quiet knock at the door; Uther had no idea if Arthur had even heard it.

"Come."

"Sire. Prince Arthur." Gwen greeted the two men meekly, carrying a tray of food and a flagon of wine.

At Gwen's voice Arthur finally looked up. Her heart clenched for her poor, sweet friend and for her prince. The fearless Arthur Pendragon looked dazed. Lost. As a child who suddenly finds himself alone in the marketplace. He blinked slowly.

Gwen went to the table, set down her tray, and began clearing away the remnants of Arthur's breakfast. Arthur silently followed her with his eyes. As Gwen began to curtsy her way out of the room, he spoke. "Wait. Gwen."

"Sire?"

"The tray…" Arthur couldn't get another word out around the lump in his throat. He could see it from where he sat. Half a bun. With honey. Arthur's vision blurred and his ears buzzed. Was everyday going to be like this? For the rest of his life? Constantly scorched by reminders of Merlin's simple goodness? Reminders that the truest and most sweet person he'd ever know was gone? Gone. Dead. Having willingly thrown down his life. Thrown it down with a smile. As if tossing down a hand of cards, knowing he'd been beat. Because of him, the bloody great Prince Arthur.

"Arthur. Arthur. Look at me…" As Arthur looked up blearily at the king, he found he was no longer sitting on the edge of the bed, but on a chair. Gwen was gone. The tray was gone. She'd left the small honey pot. Uther pressed a goblet of wine into Arthur's hand. It was filled to the brim with a strong, dark wine. And a touch of something that would help the boy sleep.

Arthur obediently gulped the wine. On shaky legs, he walked to the tray of food, his stomach protesting weakly. With a real effort, he picked up a thick piece of bread and slowly buttered it.

Merlin. Merlin had really wanted Arthur to eat. Had been willing to go to the stocks to make his point. Idiot. Arthur almost smiled at the memory of Merlin peaking out from under his bangs at Arthur but standing firm. He wasn't going to move until Arthur ate the damn bun. Before a smile could form, another wave of grief washed over the prince.

He smeared the precious honey on his bread and sat. Methodically, he ate it. Because Merlin would have wanted him to. It clawed at his throat but he swallowed roughly again and again.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, Arthur staggered back to the chair beside the bed and sat heavily. His blinks became longer and longer. He'd just close his eyes for a minute.

Uther stood with his back to the small fire, looking out the window. It was the middle of the night when the king realized that Arthur must have woke. He'd been weeping in his sleep and went quiet suddenly as the sleeping draught ran its course.

Arthur woke with quiet sobbing in his ears. Who was crying? Was that Merlin? As Arthur's mind began to clear he realized two things. The sobbing had been his own, and Merlin lay on the bed in front of him. Merlin was dead. His father stood behind them, at the window. At least he had the decency to say nothing as Arthur's grief took him again and again. He'd never cried like this, the prince felt as though something inside him had torn. Ripped. And from the rip poured pain. He tried to be quiet, to hold down his sobs but surely the king heard Arthur's shaking breaths and gasps, his sniffling. His whimpering. Arthur welcomed the physical agony emanating from the suppressed sobs pulling his cracked ribs. His mind tortured him with thoughts of the pain Merlin had endured.

After hours, Arthur was exhausted. His chest and throat throbbed; his eyes felt like slits, his head pounded. After wiping his nose on his sleeve, Arthur sat motionless, eyes glued to his friend, awaiting the second worst day of his life.

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As the sun rose, Arthur was gently prodded into action. As promised, Gaius arrived. He insisted the Arthur take willow in his tea. Several silent servants appeared and, much to Arthur's shock, the world continued. His room was tidied, food offered and removed. Arthur somehow found himself bathed and dressed. He had little memory of any of this—except dark blood, dried on Arthur's chest and legs—turning to pink whorls in the bath.

Word had spread like fire in the castle and beyond. The prince had been injured and his man, Merlin, had been killed. Merlin had been popular, such a ray of sunshine. More shocking though…and much more worthy of gossip had been Prince Arthur's reaction. Word snuck out from all over. The grooms who'd been at the stables, the merchants and royalty who'd seen Arthur stagger from the stable following in the wake of his broken servant. Eyes that had seen his lonely walk with his servant's body across the courtyard. Maids and servants who had passed Arthur's apartments in the night had indeed heard the young prince keening in his sleep. The talk continued to build. It was rumored that the king himself had visited Arthur's chambers. Anyone who had served Arthur that morning attested that, indeed, the prince seemed a broken man. Over a servant. A commoner. Someone just like them.

Not only that, the viewing was to be held in the prince's own chambers.

Between the talk and people's genuine sadness that poor Merlin had been lost, many attended the viewing. Commoners, servants, and even a few members of the visiting royalty.

For hours, people came and went. Many looked a bit afraid to enter the prince's room but Jillian and Fiona ushered all, in their professional but kind manner. Arthur stood silently at the foot of his bed all day. The weight of is formal clothes, cloak, crown, and sword tried to pull him into the depths but he resisted. There's no way he would disrespect Merlin or Merlin's mourners by being anything less than Prince Arthur. Although he stood tall and rigid, there was no hiding his grief. It was written across his face, across his whole being, for all to see.

He stood guard over his friend and found himself blinking back tears more than once as Gaius kindly accepted hugs, handshakes, and condolences. The bravest of the mourners would look at Arthur and give him a nod. A nod that said "I'm sorry sire." Arthur nodded back "As am I". And so it went. For hours.

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As night fell, Arthur oversaw a small group of servants as they carefully took Merlin from the castle to the place of the pyre. As he walked behind these men, Arthur's throat closed with sadness. He was filled to the brim with it. Choking on it.

There were many people at the site of the pyre, awaiting Merlin. Although Arthur did not think of it, many were likely awaiting him as well. The prince. A prince who just could not hide his anguish.

As Arthur joined the group, he was sad to see only Gaius at the head of the pyre, reserved for family. There was no way Merlin's mother would have been able to arrive so soon. With confidence he didn't feel, Arthur worked his way through the surprised onlookers to stand behind Gaius.

Merlin's body was consumed by roaring flame; smoke billowed, embers were whipped about by the wind. Arthur stood still as a statue, his eyes bore into the flame. His bandaged hand rested on Gaius' shaking shoulder.

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Arthur Pendragon's affection for and loyalty to Merlin, even in death, became legend among the regular citizens of Camelot. It became legend among leaders, legend into the countryside beyond. Became a tale for the ages, sung by bards and told to servants' children as they went to sleep.

Too few years down the road, Uther succumbed to a battle injury. Arthur, Gaius, and the matrons prepared the body together. Arthur grieved the loss of the king; their relationship had blossomed over its final years.

But Arthur was ready to become a brave, wise, and compassionate king. History's finest. The people's king. And so it was that Merlin fulfilled his destiny—having taught both Arthur and Camelot just what kind of man Arthur could be.

Gaius had been right; Arthur's hand pained him whenever he held a sword. Anyone could tell it by the look on his features.

Arthur never took another manservant.

**The end! Thank you for reading along on this sad little journey, I truly hope you enjoyed it! Last chance to leave me a spot of feedback…**


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